I am standing in the rain.
I am drenched.
I am happy.
This day has bought much joy to my heart. Well it would at least, but for my lack of one.
Those stupid folk! So easily deceived! So easily led astray! How they quail before the beautiful, beautiful rain! Dashing hither tither in search of shelter, but shelter here? In these highlands, MY highlands, with the grass this day green and lush. The stones and craggy outcrops paint such a magnificent picture against the purple midday sky, heavy with dark clouds and foreboding.
The shells of my cloak rattle as I move amongst the heather. Oh what fun I have! Oh the joy it brings me, leading those wretched souls from the beaten track to a terminal demise of such horror, such wretched carnage, it out paces imagination. They do not see me, for I do not wish to be seen, yet they follow, follow, the sounds of my shell coat that falls halfway down my kilt. My glorious shells, clicking and clacking together as I move on my horny bare feet. ’tis the cause of my name, those shells forming my coat, hence, I am known to all and none as ‘The Shellycoat’!
Oh glorious rain, veritable chair legs cast from the heavens, falling now heavier and heavier. Those whose souls are nigh forfeit, their path is now lost, the sky is black, and Thor’s hammer beats out a deafening reel from above.
My slippery wet highland stones, once scattered by the Gods amongst the now sodden Scottish hills and mountains fall beneath the despairing feet of those I have led astray. A child is crying, its pathetic mother draws it into the folds of its arms. Stupid! As if the arms of man can stop my beautiful, beautiful rain!
The Red Caps will pay me dearly for this gaggle of humanity. Those the very beasts who perish should their grotesque bonnets cease to be dampened by the blood of man. Oh how I laugh! How I revel in I the knowledge that the rain tonight for those lost cretins will be that of blood. Their blood, for I am the Shellycoat, and deceit and trickery is my substance.
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